


silver lining

by Ezfa



Category: Naruto, Naruto Shippuden, Naruto anime, Naruto manga
Genre: AU, Angst, Bijuu - Freeform, Drama, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Heiress, Jinchuuriki - Freeform, Kirigakure, Land of Water, Monsters, Naruto AU, Naruto anime AU, Political Alliances, Rescue Missions, Romance, SAIKEN, Skeletons In The Closet, Tragedy, Village hidden in the mist, road to ninja AU, six tails, the heiress and the jinchuuriki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7918255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezfa/pseuds/Ezfa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her eyes hold a storm; he reaches out, anyway. — #utahota #RoadToNinja!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. foreword

_**{ Foreword }** _

_**~About~** _

_**~ Editor's Note ~** _

— _I always was just a little bit bitter on how our minor protagonists were handled that took place in Utakta's arc. Believe what you will, but there is no justice when their relationship in (anime) canon is solely defined by their poorly forced dynamic of 'master & student', which we know mostly was the opening act for Naruto's finding out in his master's death. Nevermind the fact that the Jinchuuriki's as a whole were disregarded and banded as 'noble sacrifices' just to aid the Deus Ex Machina when Naruto absorbed their Bijuu's power, or even the political effects they had on their nations; excluding Bee, of course, we don't even see them as a significant part in their own lives. What purpose did they possibly serve?_

_Having said that, let's not gloss over the fact that this AU specifically takes place in **Road to Ninja.** So if something contradicts the established canon (Madara/Obito, all that – and also because I literally don't know what the heck happened in **that** aspect o the series. Who betrayed who, again? Who's the actual bad guy here?)  it's meant to be so. Even early on in the series, the knowledge on Kiri's reputation isn't exactly explained – just that they're 'bad'. The political matters most certainly hold over an important layer, but it doesn't **replace** the focus of the story, which overall it's about Utakata and Hotaru and what little information we get out of them as a whole in the manga and the anime. _

 

 **~ Musical Inspiration ~**  
_Of Men and Monsters // Crystals_  
_** Sia // Alive **_  
_Eisblumen // Eisblumen_  
_Hysteria // Steve Aoki_  
_* The Color Moral // Desolate Divine Album **  
_ _All Time Low // Outlines_


	2. 001 ; a bloodied trail

**s** **ilver lining  
** **{** **arc** **I ;** **the remembrance of tomorrow** **}  
**_**001 ;** **a bloodied trail**_

* * *

 

He never stops running.

Their time is running thin, and already at nearly five in the morning, the day seems to be speeding through. The life of a shinobi is no cake walk; missions, daily concerns regarding the safety of the country's people and the nation as a whole is weight shared by those in the high ranks, most certainly including the ANBU unit. To him, however, there is little to comprehend – to do the village and his nation good. That is his main concern, what drives him through life, and he is almost sure that it isn't a concept brought on by his own intuition. As a child, as a _boy crushed beneath the weight of his own existence,_ he never fully comprehended the concept of a ninja. He never aspired to be such; he knew he was a burden, he knew that everyone kept an eye on him – why would he look forward in life to be the one thing that wouldn't hesitate to drive his face to the ground? It took him years to realize the implications of the weight his responsibilities brought as a result of his… condition, and it took him even longer to accept it. But he's never looked back since then. He isn't the best, he knows; _oh, he knows he isn't,_ but the weight isn't as crushing now – _he doesn't suffocate in his own skin._ And instead, he now suffocates beneath the weight implanted by the moral compass he developed reluctantly over the years.

Through the trees and past the village's overpass at the main entrance, three shadow like figures slice through the air in great speed. Without even so much as a sound, much less an indication of their presence in the thick fog of the forest, the three ANBU shinobi are no further inclined to further their pace. They have to keep their speed, is all; to _not stop and move forward_ were the specific orders of their Mizukage. _Track the missing nin, take him in._ A simple enough task; It's a total of a three man squad, and naturally two subordinates flank the leader, as he reaches beyond the path by being at least ten feet running distance from them. Beyond the fundamental details on the mission, the briefing lasted no more than fleeting _minutes_ before they were ushered out quickly. However, knowing their explicit aspect of their hunt, yet, their conversation inevitably takes no other direction. There's a thick air of silence – an unspoken conversation that runs through each of their heads before, finally, the shinobi to his left speaks: “—What _a_ _re_ we going to do with the captive, exactly? Knock him out and then take him to tea?” His response is a disapproving grunt. “I mean, really – with what he's already _done_ why should it even be a question at this point that we _keep_ him alive?” Professionalism masks the discourse in his voice; he doesn't let more than an ounce seep through the cat shaped mask.

“The way you keep running your mouth makes it seem like you're not a native of Kiri.” Says the other nin with a wolf shaped mask. “Regardless – it's the Mizukage's orders. Beyond that, there's no sound explanation; it's done and over with. Beyond the involvement with the shady shipping business that already overtook the Land of Waves, his reasons for incarceration and captivity aren't that impressive. At most, point blank, the outright murders of his _whole damn class_ during the chunin exams years ago.” He offers half a shrug, and his gaze though invisible through the hollow porcelain lands on their captain. “However, this does well to remind us of our troubles, then, doesn't it? Remember the… _other_ couple of instances Kiri's forces had to deal with disastrous inconveniences?”

The captain stiffens almost immediately; but, despite himself, assimilates his position. Wolf-mask doesn't hide his scoff.

“Well aren't _you_ the colorful sort today, Tsurugi?”

“ _Quiet_ you belligerent _fool!_ Don't spew classified information like that out in the open, damnit!” He hisses out in vehemence at cat-mask, clearly disregarding the hypocrisy in his statement. “There are ears and eyes hidden in this thick fog.”

However, cat-mask doesn't seem the least bit deterred, now offering a half shrug of his own. “Doesn't it seem hypocritical though?”

“Eugh. What are you on about, exactly?”

“About _Kiri._ The Fourth is the one who _founded_ the beginnings of the many practices; _not excluding the outright massacres_ of those wielding anything short resembling kekke-genkai. Even now, the Lady Fifth – _bless her—”_

“ _Bless her_ _ **wantoness,**_ I think you mean — you absolute filth.” Tsurugi points out blatantly.

“— _bless. The._ _Fifth._ _-_ and as I was _saying,_ before you interrupted, the Fifth herself is in possession of _two. For all her talk_ on disintegrating the horrid reputation we've built as a nation, she isn't exactly pulling her own weight. The Fourth left a mess too big that, quite really, any of his successors are sure to flop like helpless fish stabbed through the chest with a kunai!”

“To speak ill of our Kage is reason enough for _treason_ and _conviction,_ Takumi, let me remind you of the very fact.” Neither ANBU nin expected the voice of their captain to cut through, so their surprise is absolute as they snap their attention to him. “Politics don't suit your tongue, so keep it in check, will you?”

“Oh, but it suits _you_ just fine doesn't it?” There is no mistaking the uppity drawl glued to Tsurugi's voice. Being a man of truth and outright _blatant_ disregard for any authority he doesn't deem fit, it's no surprise that he talks to his own captain in such a way. After all, anyone could outright argue that he isn't in the best spirits due to the _special_ arrangements made regarding this squad. It doesn't sit well with him, and he made it obvious to the Fifth at the time of announcing such news, but she had none of it. A veteran from wars and bloodshed he may be, but he is lacking respect and even pride as a nin, and, as a result, tarnished his dignity to nearly non-existence. “You must consider yourself in _league_ with the Fifth, don't you, boy? Must be _nice_ having the perks.”

The captain offers silence as a response, but despite his best efforts and the fact that they cannot see, he smirks. “Wow, Tsurugi – you're going full senile. You _never_ go full senile.” At this, even Takumi – the youngin of the three, unsurprisingly lets out a chortle.

The older man isn't amused. “Considering the circumstances then, what are _your_ thoughts on the discourse, captain? Care to share with the class?” He sneers, not being above sarcasm, the man _is_ morbidly curious. “How long then – since the Fifth is _so perfect,_ – _how_ _long_ until there is finally discourse throughout the entire nation right at her doorstep? As a society, humans aren't too keen to band together unless there is a reason. What other nations consider the most important aspect in any government body is what _we_ in Kiri lack.”

“What exactly are you saying?” Cuts the much younger and rambunctious voice. “Discourse? Are you implying a _war?_ We aren't even within the parameters of other countries for that kind of carnage!”  
  
Tsurugi's gaze is driven back, albeit not reluctantly, to the his other teammate. “You simpleton – war doesn't rely on whether or not other countries are involved. A war can very start from within the rotting underside of a nation that was never united to begin with. Funds are running low enough as it is. It's been this way for nearly _decades,_ and it isn't just that fact; we're hitting a weak spot. Famine, economic rock-slide _just a pebble away_ and several internal clan disputes have built over years in our village. Our practices were never stable or sound, I'll grant that. But everything has a limit – _this_ situation in particular is one of the many catastrophes waiting to happen, I _assure_ you. _Detaining_ Zabuza, or even any of the Seven Swordsmen is bound to be a loss either way. It's not like harboring instigators have helped this rotting nation in the past.”

Throughout the verbal, _enriching,_ debate on the back of his shoulders, Utakata is aware of the ill poison the veteran nin is sending him; in waves no less. _Discrimination be damned_ , he thinks, the man is full of bitterness, and he has half a mind to turn around and let him know the inconvenient weight he brings as it tips the scale of this sole mission. Behind the fox mask filled with blue markings, he chooses to overlook the old man, regardless. The Mizukage specifically made her instruction explicit, _the man is aging with the knowledge that he's come in second to the very being that stripped him of many of his comrades, Utak_ _a_ _ta – understand it's not_ _ **you,**_ _not the person acting as the vessel to the beast, but the beast himself._ Her words, however, had been hard to ignore when, _alright, no no Lady,_ _that_ _so does not, in fact, make me feel any less responsible, but -that's- fine, really, just pile on the weight. No big deal, it's not like-_

— _ **hell,**_ he never thought he could be this pathetic. In retrospect, he supposes that maybe it's not _that_ uncalled for, _but still._ Like a nails scraping to a chalkboard, a set of two footsteps in westbound direction yank his attention and instincts. Nearly as a bloodhound, he makes no hesitation to lunge, straying from the initial path. The men follow wordlessly, but _of course Tsurugi_ makes his distaste clear in the whole affair.

“What is it now?” He calls out impatiently.

“Your impatience astounds me, Tsurugi. Footsteps, leaving _fast,_ fifteen meters west. We're to hurry. Zabuza and his sidekick are very well on the move, I can feel it.” Utakata ignores his disapproval. He also leaves out the fact that it isn't _just_ their footsteps far ahead.

* * *

She never stops running

“ _Don't lose sight of her!”_ — a deep, almost deranged voice booms through the air, penetrating the atmosphere of the forest and into her chest; they aren't far behind. “Get - _that-_ _ **brat!”**_ Her attention is already skyward before he has the chance to continue speaking again. She just keeps going – _I must think of my own life!_ _T_ _hink of_ _ **the**_ _ **-**_

There's a convulsion in her chest as she violently wretches herself to the left. Misdirection is what she prays for, and although she knows in the back of her head that she doesn't have even half of the capacity to reach the level of a true nin, her mind follows that precise trail of thought anyway. Desperation drives her movements, and panic is what doesn't allow her to stop. But after a beat of silence, she blinks, holding herself tense – not too wise with experience but driven with sheer human instinct to _survive,_ she doesn't trust the silence that engulfs the air. The tenseness surfaces through her skin, causing to feel a disgusting sense of _itchiness_ all over, but she holds herself taut, awaiting any sudden noise. The lack of anything doesn't placate her in the slightest. Her own panting and heartbeat are a great disturbance, so when her shaking hands reach out to one of the many sharp kunais in her holster, pressing it flush against her chest for a type of support system, she takes in a deep breath.

Dead leaves rustle and squirrels are _tuttering._

Her bloodied hands clench the kunai in her grasp, the cool metal seeming to accelerate the pulsating of her blood. Putrid sweat and crimson droplets fall in enunciating _blops_ on the dirt she stands on _;_ the knot in her throat is getting bigger, and her attempt to calm herself is fruitless. When a particular, generous sized, drop of blood slides from the metal onto the ground, something in her _freezes._ Time doesn't seem relevant the moment her eyes travel downward, and _only_ when her gaze locks on to the _light colored_ puddle of mud beneath her, does she realize her position, and even then, her mind doesn't comprehend: two hands mold around her ankles. Only one thought escapes her mind as she's suddenly lurched violently onto the ground-

— _is this really it?_

In blind desperation, neither caring for the burning sensation of her ankles from the impact of being _unnaturally_ held away with the weight of her body, nor the actual location of her attacker, she sinks the kunai with all her might forward. It hits nothing but vacancy, and her wrists are detained as well, _gripped_ tightly and bent backwards. A fistful of her hair is gathered fiercely into a fist as she her head is yanked to the side, exposing the crook of her neck, and it takes her a second to realize that there is another, _sharper,_ blade's point held right at the artery; her life pulsating, and seeping, through with every drop. The kunai she had in her grasp mere seconds ago falls heavily, and _that's just fantastic, isn't it? Yet another weight onto her chest. Please, add more – it's no -damn- trouble whatsoever!_ Her bloodied hands, too damp for her own liking and shaking _violently_ are held tightly; she refuses at least that. Clenched fists sting, but despite it, she doesn't let herself get past that point of panic. She's already done for.

“You've caused a _load_ of problems, girl.” Her tongue is itching with a sharp retort, despite her situation, but before she can utter a word, the edge of the kunai deepens against her skin. It's not enough to kill her outright, but it would be in less than a minute if it doesn't stop soon. The man holding the wretched metal against her neck notices her silence, notices the _burning_ in her teal eyes, infuriating him as he begins to dig his nails into her scalp. He will not accept that _pretty heiress's locked jaw_ as some _divine-given right_ to try and act tough and mighty! _“You wretched little posh bitch! Do_ _ **not**_ _assume we are beneath you, do you understand me?!”_

“—Benten, that's _enough. Nango,_ _ **do not**_ _let her go._ ” An unnecessary quip to the man holding her ankles from the mud, but Akaboshi wants to make it _incessantly_ clear just what situation she is in. Defiance is not to be permitted, and despite her vigorous struggles, he can see the defeat etched on her pitiful expression – he knows anything more is a kick when she is down.

The gulp is too fierce, to disturbingly _pronounced_ , but it's all she can muster – it's all she can do to have a coherent semblance of _life,_ as ridiculous as the notion sounds to her. _I'm going to_ _ **die,**_ she swallows in the thought, letting it overcome her mindset in maximum. She is going to die, and everything she ever hoped for, everything she had ever _dreamed_ of is to be wasted. She has been drilling it in her head for the trillionth time tonight, but it's in this very second that she realizes that this is damage _beyond_ any comprehensible salvation. All she can do, is wait. Beads of cool sweat become rivers down her temple, her shirt getting damp from the underside of her bossum, and the unfamiliar cool sensation on the right side of her waist indicates an open wound and it stains heavily on her side. All this time, she ran without even a semblance to her own physical condition: it's poor, and at it's limit.

_Is she really such a joke?_

“Didn't I tell you _not_ to make Benten, mad?” The smothering _slime_ of a voice is directed at her person, but the man's thumb is pointing at the one who's clutching her with an _itch_ to disembowel, telepathically _daring,_ _ **begging**_ to utter so much as another sound. “I know, I know,” he continues, as if she's participating in the frivolous conversation and not being held at knife point. “He _looks_ harmless enough – cleans up nicely for ah – _erhm–_ a _lady,_ but-”

“Chūshin,” comes the leader's voice – cut and unforgiving. “This isn't the _time._ Enough of this nonsense – _Benten,_ do **not** act against me! _Hold her_ and nothing more! We have a _job here!”_

“But we're not _even suppo-_ _”_

“ _Silence. Now,”_ it takes everything in her exhausted body to not immediately jump, but she does flinch backwards and even would have outright _leaped_ had it not been for the _lady-man_ yanking her hair from its' roots. “— one last chance, girl. _Where is it?”_

And it is at this moment that something in her _snaps_ a little on the inside. She is no fool, and her actions do not come without consequence – _but hell_ if she isn't already _done. So at the very least,_ she reasons with herself as she bites the inside of her cheeks, _might as well go with a line that sweeps the audience away._ It's bittersweet, but the vindictiveness maximizes the _sweetness._ With what seems to have given herself a moment of _clarity — or prayer? —_ she unclenches her jaw, refusing to wince at the pain she put herself through to keep the mouth clamped _shut,_ and unleashes the poison riling in her chest, _reveling_ in the sweetness.

“Over my dead _body_.”

— _and right then, is when Benten_ _ **snaps.**_

“ _Then_ _ **DIE!**_ _ **”**_ Her eyes are well clenched long before she can hear the weapon _swoop_ through the air, her chest _pulsating_ as if _eager_ to be cut open. Choking in her last breath, _flashbacks_ become near _white flashes of light._

But something goes _wrong._

“ _Benten, wait!_ _What is-?_ _ **FUCK!”**_

The sudden outburst startles her, and the mucus and stinging tears don't prove to helpful when she tries to take in the situation. _Red._ All she sees is a blinding _red streak_ of light. High on adrenaline, she strives to move forward, absolutely forgetting the extra weight anchoring her down, causing her to fall back sharply on her knees, and the jerk reaction is instantaneous. Her knees just absorbed the whole weight of her fall, and she only now sees the mud-hands dissipating behind her. The bandits look as lost as she does, but their concern is no longer on her; _It's above them._ And no more than a mere seconds after observing the fact does she instinctively look up herself in blind panic. But the chance for clarity doesn't come because _something just rustled in from behind._ A quick turn of her head doesn't result in anything – the figures that were there _woosh_ out of sight. Metals clash, steps shake the ground – she can _hear all this,_ but she can't _see_ anything. Everything _blurs_ and nothing is _static;_ her oncoming headache isn't helping and everything is _spinning and she can't even make sense of who or what's a person anymore-_

Something strikes her in the back of her neck.

She doesn't see where or what it came, and a flash of _green_ vanishes from the side as she tries to comprehend. A moment of clarity, a moment where everything _enlightens_ and _radiates_ passes, and her eyes gloss over and nearly bulge out of her head. Somewhere in the background, in the desperation of her head wanting to gain back control of her body, she can hear quick feet on thick branches and _whooshes_ in the air – there are _cries_ and _screams_ from voices not belonging to the bandits, and none of it comes out of hers. Bloodied hands shakily try to go and pick the _annoying_ itch at the back of her neck, but all too soon, she is _falling forward._ Her body has become ten times its' own weight, and everything is getting so _dark._

But there's a faint yet piercing voice that stands out – and, her thoughts wander to this topic of all things, it's probably because it's _getting_ closer and _louder. “Kid!_ _Hey Kid_ _! Keep your eyes open!”_ It fades again, and she tries, she really does, to keep her sluggish eyes open, seeing nothing but an incoherent blob of white, red and blue. But one second, she is on the ground, bleeding profusely from _she doesn't even_ _ **know**_ _anymore –_ to being _supported_ onto something, and she's _flying._ Her cheek is on silk, and hands clench on her calves, _refusing to let go._ And there's a voice again, reverberating in her chest.

_...name? My… name..?_

“...Ho...Hotaru….”

“Hotaru, you're going to be _fine.”_ But the voice is already too far away.

And then, nothing.


	3. 002 ; remnants of misery

**s** **ilver lining  
** **{** **arc** **I ;** **the remembrance of tomorrow** **}  
** _**part** **00** **2** **;** **remnants of** **misery** _

* * *

 

————————————————————————

**Mission Status: Pending  
** **Urgency: Standby  
** **Forward in Reference of: MN Special Unit Elite #A0782**

_1708 hours within the twenty fourth week, the next course of action is still not explicit; approximately, circa nineteenth week and three days in, Gatō has acquired the support of Kiri's official Labor Union: National Marinal Province and Farm Workers. Official fund information is withheld in accordance to several of confidential key element regulations founded in **Gatō** **Transport** 's numerous contract agreements with the various shipping companies in Kirigakure._

_Illicit trade and activities are usually overshadowed due to the given benefits in Kiri's favor – among such is the 30% profits that transfer to nearly 1/3rd of the village's population. Citizens and Laborers alike are keeping the benefits at bay and smuggling their way through with the profits made. Gatō's influence has already been made prosperous in The Land of Waves; the isolated country near the southern border of Konohagakure. Numerous attempts have been made in halting Gatō's monopolizing business; but in overseeing the illicit and forbidden trades that has gained the Union's support, it's highly approximate that the company is to be made more than welcome. If Gatō succeeds in drawing in Kirigakure's Council and Law's (Genji) vote, then there's unspeakable consequences that will rise against Kirigakure, and inevitably by extension, our bare alliance to the other nations._

_Careful measures are being taken in this moment in time to appease the Union and Gatō; however, the evidence realistically lies in the village's vote, both as a nation and people. Until then, it is to be made completely understood that all measures will be taken to prove the economic rock slide Kiri will suffer if legal action is not taken, and if **Gatō's Transpor** t is not disbanded immediately. The mission will continue as seen fit, and status reports are to be sent out bi monthly._

_ **End of Mission Status** _

————————————————————————

 

Mei Terumi is not pleased. _So then, the bastard is worming his way in the village as we speak._

There’s a hint of a sneer, barely made evident the tilt of her head at the scroll in her hands. Lowering the paper, she mindlessly smooths out the material over her desk. Her fingernail taps the wooden surface of her desk as her stare hardens. None of this would do – this is the exact opposite of the results she expected. The Mizukage hadn't taken into consideration – _at all –_ that Gatō would have actually managed to gain the Labor Union's vote, but knowing the implication, she suspects it was more of _blackmail_ than it had with _gaining_ their vote. More likely, lives were taken – the man is a threat to the village's stability. The problem, however, doesn't lie with the fact that she is the official appointed, and current voice of Kirigakure – it has to do with their reputation as a whole. Their stamp rested on the disaster title _Village of the Bloody Mist_ had been a permanent scar on their nation's pride – she knew very well the weight she had settled on her own shoulders the second she decided to make being Mizukage her goal in life.

But this is something she cannot fix on the sole power of being the Mizukage.

Ideally and in a more distinct ideal world, a monopoly trade business dealing with drugs would quickly be banished and disbanded by any other Kage – but The Land of Water has not, and even still isn't, a unified nation. The profits and shinobi that fight to _guard_ Gatō's business could sever the ties Mei had just begun to form with the other nations. If Gatō isolated the Land of Water from the other nations, the village would lose their small _not-even-guaranteed_ support as allies and its' power to rule over the people. Ultimately, the decision _did_ lie in the village, in the _citizens_ of Kiri. Gatō would gain the favor of more Unions, more citizens, despite the unspeakable trades and _objects_ of those trades. More votes, however, also meant more people _against_ Gatō's agenda, and as rightful as they would be, it would lead to a major discourse in the country. It would lead to civil war all over again; the land would be split in two, and their ally agreements to the other nations are worn thin as it is. There would be no support, and she would have no choice but to disband the village immediately. _It's exactly what the man wants._

 _But t_ _his… boy. This boy is causing me conflict._ Without a doubt, Mei can see the blatant disregard towards her orders all over the mission report. His defiance, she thinks, is most likely a reason for hindering the progress of the mission – he's a sharp one, but his incompetence is a major defect towards the goal in getting Gatō out of commission. Most likely, she thinks, there is some personal feelings getting mixed up. He's taking his role too seriously, as a double agent.

This will not do.

“Ao,” she says to herself; veteran commander of the ANBU unit – he most likely would know what to do with the boy, what to do with this situation as a whole. Tap tap tap. “I need to get in touch with Ao…” she muses, the tapping of her sharp nail becoming louder the more agitated and impatient she becomes. _Don’t frown,_ she chastises herself, _you’ll get wrinkles and end up as glum and humdrum as the ‘legendary’ Hokage herself. You’re too pretty to be mad._ Her internal scolding is interrupted, however, and the air gathers thick in front of her, and in the form of three men. Her gaze travels to their forms – like statues, they refuse to move unless she tells them otherwise. This causes the slightest upturn of her lips. “ _Ah – good timing, boys,_ ” she purrs in approval as she leans forward, resting her chin on her interlocked arms – facial expression seemingly charming and pleasant. However, the ANBU know better. _“ —— what do you have for me?_ Give me _some_ good news.” Her voice is _daring_ them to contradict her.

Knowing the Mizukage’s temper, the leader of the group keeps his head and body bowed to her. It doesn’t seem if she is in a mood for pleasantries. The two flanking him make no noise or indication that they are about to speak; as the leader, the burden of bad news falls on his shoulders. A moment of silence passes before he stands fully, hands forming together in proper salute to their village leader. “Lady Mizukage, a foreigner has been detained.”

At this, she raises a slim brow, lips slightly pouted in confusion and mild curiosity. “Oh? How does that go?”

Behind the mask, he licks his lips, trying to decipher and analyze the information he is about to relay to his leader. “In part of Zabuza, Mizukage-sama.” He pretends to oversee the tense atmosphere that engulfs the room as Mei leans back into her chair, expression very blank and neutrally pensive.

After a moment, her voice is heavy with the processed implications of his message. “… I see.” _Tap tap tap._ More agitation, more frustration and _several_ more factors come into play whenever there's a situation concerning _The Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist._ “I'm assuming this… _foreigner_ has come in between the mission, then? You know, the _actual_ reason why I sent you three _specifically?_ Or that they have _significance_ regarding the whereabouts of Zabuza or Gatō? Seeing as, well, you clearly _don't_ have either of them in confinement.” Her harsh inquiries are met with silence.; as a response her lip thins,. After a moment: “In what location?”

“Just outside the border of the village, ma'm. Westbound.”

“Don't call me ma'm – that's rude. I am not irrelevant nor am I going senile.”

“….err… Yes, Mizukage.”

“Good. You two, subordinates – continue to survey the area that you last spotted Zabuza and continue on the path. I want _him_ detained, is that understood?”

“Yes, Mizukage-sama.” say the two voices, distinct in their lower, more calm voices. Content, she waves them off with the grace of any natural leader should, and they disappear in individual puffs of smoke.

“ _Now,”_ her voice is eerily calm, but patient. Mei _is_ the leader, and she cannot be forgiving, but she is also human, _not_ a dictator. “Care to explain why you have come in _empty_ handed with nothing but a pile of croc of an explanation? You have a mission, and when I appoint my ANBU their positions, regardless if they are team members or captains – _but_ _ **especially**_ _captains –_ I expect _absolute_ and full cooperation. What is your reasoning behind this exactly?” Yet another beat of silence which, naturally, doesn't please her _at all._

“She was in trouble.”

For the second time today, her brow raises. “A _she..?”_ she says, slight yet tentative amusement seeps through her tone, and she has to fight the urge to smirk. Now is not the time for trivialities, but she can't help the jibe, anyway. “All this time, I didn't peg you as the heroic type.”

He barely moves, but it's enough for her to know that he's gotten uncomfortable. “She's a child – she's on the brink of death thanks to the needles struck in her back.” He informs her.

“Indeed. Regardless – so you see a pretty face and then derail from Zabuza?” Mei doesn't know why he's hesitating this much – though not a man of many words, she knows, his actions are much more explicit and see through than his mouth will ever be. But she's also a patient woman, so she's not unused to nearly interrogating him like this. “Is that the reasoning? Or…?” She prompts him to continue, making a motion with her slim fingers for him to keep going.

“She was attacked by _his_ subordinate.”

At _this_ makes her pause, and her gaze hardens. _That_ is indeed some information, but it doesn't fully convince her, and by extension, it shouldn't to him either. “Alright. That's something worthy to note. However, what significance does this have to the situation as a whole? What is your… _professional opinion?”_

“It is to my knowledge and awareness that outside affairs of the Seven Swordmen are not irrelevant to Gatō. Anything concerning them concerns him, surely – thereby, it concerns _us.”_

“Meaning…?”

“If this girl was attacked, I'll go so far as to say even _targeted_ by Zabuza's merry little helper, shouldn't that information be, at least, taken into consideration?”

“A means of distraction, surely. An evasion tactic to catch you off guard.” She challenges.

“It may be, but it also may be not. She was being chased and attained _specifically_ by a four man group of bandits, Mizukage-sama. And even before the situation escalated, she seems to be withholding vital information that makes her nefariously targeted.”

“ _Utakata,_ ” she cuts in sharply, having enough of his words and speculations. “We are in the middle of a possible oncoming discourse within our very own nation. And Gatō seems to be at the absolute pinnacle of the very fact. _You know this;_ we do not have time for conspiracy theories or helping outside strays that have absolutely nothing to do with our business. The only matter of concern from this whole affair is that she was attacked by Zabuza's errand boy – and even then, nothing is guaranteed.” After a moment, she sighs, rubbing her temples by the oncoming wave of a headache. “When I appointed you as captain, I did it because I _know_ that you are more than capable. Harusame made it very clear that you were more than prepared; You have a sharp mind, a _very_ unfiltered wit that gets the bets of even _Ao_ and your senses are more than outstanding. What I did _not_ appoint you for was to be distracted by every single insignificant detail. Am I understood?”

“The girl saw something that she shouldn't have.”

The answer, both so vague and to the point, that makes it seem like he literally did not pay attention to her whole speech _disregarding_ him as a capable captain and excellent shinobi leaves her dumbfounded, for a second. Mei blinks, and she takes in the implication, the _weight_ of his words. “ _—Ah,_ so _that's_ the detail, then is it?”

He stays silent.

“I see...” she continues. “And as such, you wanted to save the possible, _inevitable,_ consequences of such a slip up. _Tsk tsk.”_ She clicks her tongue and closes her eyes, leaning in once again to recollect herself. She had expected him to be wary and _cautious._ These are pure amateur mannerisms. _Don't get mad, you'll get wrinkles; don't get mad, don't get——_ “I send you on a mission that holds _nothing_ but urgency, and your… your _repayment_ is _this?”_ Her voice isn't fuming quite yet, but certain words are grit through her pearl white teeth, and she's trying to not nurture yet another headache, _yet how can she when everything is going down to absolute_ _ **shit**_ _and now she has to worry about_ _this_ _too and—_

Despite his vulnerable position, he holds her gaze through the slits of his mask. Tentatively, he speaks. “Mizukage-sama, if I may be so to bold as to ask… to gain _permission,_ ” he clarifies, “to make _sure_ the girl isn't current on the… _situation_ at hand.” He doesn't exactly know what's going on in the edge of his mind as he speaks – but he can't deny the weight of responsibility. But he isn't a _child_ or someone who's _just_ starting their job. He's a twenty-six year old nin who, officially starting tomorrow, had been appointed in one of the Mizukage's elite ANBU forces for a little over four years now. Frankly, he deserves a semblance of benefit of the doubt – but he also knows Mei, he knows how she works and how her _mind_ works. Her heart is in the right place, but she is also a Kiri native – the people of Kiri are, naturally, people of action. They are not as soft as those in Konoha, or neighboring countries and villages. It is one of the many aspects that further isolates them from the rest of the world. It's also an aspect that further differentiates him from the rest of Kiri as well – as if there isn't _enough_ already. “And despite the circumstances I've caused,” there's a pause to his words, there's the slightest bit of – _shame? Uncertainty? Thought? -_ hesitation, but it passes quickly. “This could be more beneficial to us as a whole.”

Her piercing eyes don't dart an inch as he speaks – watching him like prey. She is not amused or in a generous mood, but she is willing to listen. “How do you figure?”

“To gain more information. This is a _trail;_ stale breadcrumbs, but we have _something_ here. We can _gain_ some information, Mizukage. She must know something, or at the very least, have _heard_ something. Especially if she was running towards this direction.”

Her attention perks up, and she thinks it over. “So then… this girl was not only attacked by our target; she was _headed_ towards this direction to begin with. She's withholding _something_ , as it seems, _and_ she seems to be a target – _specifically and enough_ to capture Zabuza's attention, and deemed worthy enough to destroy?” Laying out the facts as they are, Mei is reluctant to admit, it _is_ all rather odd. As a shinobi, she would understand her faithful captain's hesitation; he is on to something. But as the Mizukage, she has to be much more cautious and suspicious. The safety of this village is to come first, and a foreigner – young girl or old man on his _deathbed –_ is a jeopardy regardless of the circumstances. As Mei looks up, it strikes her to see the absolute _persistence_ in his face – he bears a mask, but being as their relationship stood, as superior and family, she can't help but falter the slightest when she doesn't comply. She's known the boy for years, and it's always been odd – _he's_ always been an odd one. “I grant an initiation.”

“Mizukage…?”

“Do not twist my words, or take me in the wrong direction, Utakata. I don't know this captive of ours that _you_ brought. But despite everything, it is clear that you want to take responsibility; I am not without sympathy. I will allow you to keep an eye on her – I will _consider,_ _consider_ on what to do with her. Beyond that, it's not like we are eager to take in more citizens. Kiri is guarded and heavily isolated for many reasons, and you know that. Until then, just… watch her. _Maybe_ she can prove to be useful.”

He knows well enough to not question when she has reached a resolution. He gives off a single nod. “Yes, Mizukage. Understood.” However, he can't help the upturn of his lips – and almost as if Mei can literally see right through his mask, her eyes narrow – worthy to note, however, is that there is a glint of amusement behind her gaze, as well.

“Very well then. Now, get out of my sight. You're tainting the air in my office.”

* * *

When she wakes, she is none too happy to find that she cannot move. Disheartened and stumped by this revelation, her first bodily instinct is to jerk – but she finds herself too heavy for even a lift of a finger. A tinge of paranoia settles in the pit of her stomach, and frustratingly enough _everything is pushing her to the edge._ The silence, the blankets as they scratch her body uncomfortably, but most of all, it was the stark brightness of the room. Everything is _too_ white, and her eyes just can't adjust. Like an influx of a day's migraine, she forces herself to move her head off the side and when she spots a _door,_ of all things, the gears start to turn. She needs to leave, she needs to _leave right now, and_ _ **eugh**_ _why_ _does my head hurt so bad?! What did I_ _miss_ _and where_ _am_ _I?!_ An onslaught of emotion overtakes her once more and distinctly travels to the base of her throat, and almost immediately, she lurches forward from the force of the involuntary movement. It never comes, so instead not a second after, she is left sitting half haphazardly up from the thin, stiff mattress as the sheets pool to the floor. She has been stripped from her clothes, but she is not indecent; instead, she sports white wrappings that reach down to her navel, no doubt covering a wound or two that currently pulses in pain, and some loose mint-green pants. Her dirty blonde hair is in disarray and in need of a desperate wash. She also isn't pleased to find herself _shaking_ as her hand reaches up to her forehead. This wouldn't _do._ She needs to speak to the _Kage and-_

Hotaru's eyes widen; _no no no no no_ _ **no NO**_ _ **not**_ _the Kage, and oh_ _god_ _I have to talk_ _someone_ _before it's too late! What if he's gotten to them already?! I can't_ _do_ _this, what was I_ _thinking?!_ _I have to_ _go_ _and I'm just_ _here_ _wasting my time and—_

As if a star far off in the universe hears her internal outburst and senses her oncoming panic attack, the door - _that she didn't even_ _notice_ _, how_ _long_ _has that_ _been_ _there, anyway?!-_ opens and she can't help but jerk back in surprise. The nurse, oblivious to the rising pandemonium ticking like a bomb that is Hotaru, blinks a couple of times before rushing forward. “Oh goodness! Child _please,_ you must _lay down –_ you are in absolute _no_ condition to-”

“I… _no wait, please!_ I need _help,” she isn't listening to me!_ As it stands, the nurse has none of the her badgering; treating her like a nuisance, she forcibly sits her patient back down, gripping the back of her shoulder blade and the front end near her chest.

“Hush now! If you move anymore the bandages will become loose and you'll lose even more blood! Stop your squirming, already. I _don't_ want to take care of you for _another_ two days!” After the girl’s small - _eep,_ and a final disapproving frown that would kill her on the spot if it could, she stalks to the door, all but slamming it with mutters of ' — _these damn foreigners! Weak and whiners the lot of them! Bet she's a Leaf, too.'_

 _Two days._ She's been out of it for _two days?_ Once again she is stuck back to a helpless situation, but this time, Hotaru tries her best to not panic, despite the thundering _boom_ of her heart. The sheets shuffle under her arms, and she settles to lean her back against the small hard pillows – confrontation like that easily drains the energy out of her system, and she can't help but think almost all over again-

— _am I **really** this pathetic?_

The touch of her own digits on her forearm are alien; she's cold and the texture of her finger pads are hardly recognizable. Her breath shudders as her eyes scan the room – it's no more obvious that she's in a clinic, or maybe a hospital? Never having been in a legitimate medical ward, the girl is simultaneous clueless and horrified at the ambiance surrounding her person. There is a stark chill that sets her off and once again almost manages to send her bolting over the brink. Nothing is making sense, and the more seconds pass by, the more she wants to just hurl herself out the window and be her on her way. _Anything_ to go – she had fled her isolated home on Mount Katsuragi to precisely _free_ herself the burden of being so _lost,_ so to find herself in nearly the same situation, _if not the exact same situation,_ seeps utter frustration through her veins. A blatant growl captures her attention, and her gaze travels down to her stomach. With an exasperated sigh, she hits her head back, if only to know herself out of this nightmare, and closes her eyes.

… _did I make the right choice?_

Hotaru had never been much of a girl who painted her own sunset and her dreams in bright watercolors; the dreams themselves were too utterly bleak to paint over, and the brushes would only end up broken in her hands. She is a girl of action; of being in the _moment._ It was never customary in her life to ask what _she_ wanted, or what had been best suited for _her._ With a flutter of her eyelashes and stoic smile, she pressed forward to whatever the wishes of those around her. It was never in her place to _complain;_ smile and look pretty. Smile and look pretty. Rinse and repeat until it became second nature. Rubbing the cuffs of her wrists, she heaves a sigh; _That… that didn't go well with me, did it then? Not if it led me to where I am now._ At this point, she is sure that Tonbee would have read her facial expression like a book – he would have asked if she'd wanted a cup of tea, or some of her favorite dishes. She would politely decline, but he would persist on the matter, proving to be restless until she spilled some semi-faux double entendre, sprinkled with some poetic nonsense she read in her small collection of antiquated poetry and-

— _and now, I don't even have that._ Her heart nearly jolts once more when she remembers _exactly_ why she ran. But somehow, it sends a surge of new found determination, and her gaze ends up at the handle of the door.

* * *

 “I heard you received quite the scolding, boy.” An aged voice cuts through the air, and Utakata can't help but smile. Out of the various places to see his sensei, he hadn't expected him to meet up in the hospital. Mei had practically forbade him to step out onto another mission until this ' _foreign girl problem'_ was tended to.

The storm is relentless; such drastic weather, however, is not unexpected in this country. Like the majority of Kiri's residents, he is not unused to it – but _being_ who he is, he _has_ to be one of the stranger ones; he had never been much for storms. Too much fuss, too catastrophic and too tragic. Despite his own ties to water, to _bubbles_ of all things, he would avoid the worst of the storms whenever possible. Even as a child, he would so much as hurl himself into a tight ball to protect himself from the thunder; the raging storm does nothing to bring ease into his soul. It's always the calm afterward that he looks forward to – for someone like him, it had always been something he could cling on, it gave him _hope._ Even now, even as a twenty-six year old, it's the one thing he looks forward to regardless of the severity of the weather. _The bigger the storm, the bigger the rainbow._ Harusame had taught him that. He shuffles further along the bench to give his teacher room to sit. Out of habit and _something_ near professionalism, he hasn't yet removed the mask that identifies him as ANBU. “A scolding? I'm not too sure of that. You may want to check up your resources.”

Having none of his nonsense, Harusame sighs wearily and adjusts his glasses. “Utakata, _please_. Quiet down that personality – derailing from the instructions given, rummaging through a fight like a mad-man, and capturing the _wrong_ target – have you no shame? What have I said about involving yourself in unnecessary predicaments? You gambled with your life for useless baggage, boy!” He has to resist the urge to raise his voice, however, Harusame catches on to his pupil quickly, already seeing the trail of annoyance on his young face. He's known the boy ever since he was _seven_ – ever since he was nothing more than a wandering orphan with a haunted look in his sleepless eyes. He remembers distinctly the aged look on such a _young_ face; how emaciated he was in the streets, and whenever he observed the boy, he would act no less like an abused animal. It took Harusame barely 3 months before the boy gave him some trust – namely, it was for food. Nineteen years. _Nineteen_ _years_ is too long to go without picking up nearly, if not all of his mannerisms. He can observe the most miniscule detail, down to a small smirk or a scrunch of his nose and know _exactly_ what's going on through his mind. Harusame's gaze softens, and he turns away when he sees Utakata is not going to tear his gaze from the wall. The old man's gaze also wanders away. “Tell me, Utakata. What is really going on? This isn't like you.” In truth, the boy has not been himself lately – something had happened in between the times where he hadn't been there to observe his behavior more frequently; something has changed.

Utakata neither shrinks from his teacher's words, nor does he falter; he lays perfectly still. _And this,_ he realizes, _is what_ _ **breaks**_ _him._ He can't stand that look, _that tone,_ and part of him wants to stalk off, like when he was a teenage brat too busy brooding how 'nobody accepted him' or some nonsense. He thinks back on all the times when he'd been _mistreated, pushed and shoved away like a parasite,_ and even now, despite his reputation, _his duty and honor_ to the very village that continues to provide bloodshed and hatred, _is it really any surprise that he still feels this way?_ What he won't give, one of these days, to grab his most comfortable article of clothing, his main and _only needed weapon,_ and saunter off away from this horrid village. Why does he owe it anymore of his loyalty? Maybe in another life, he does – he's too cowardly and wretched with _morality and honor bound_ to try anything remotely similar. His lips part, after moments of his mind wandering to _places and possibilities that it really shouldn't,_ and he can _feel_ it in his heart, _his breath,_ that he's going to tell Harusame precisely that to just blatantly ask _what is he working towards?_ – even though, deep down, he _knows the answer._ But he never gets the chance – because immediately, to his left, two staff members are knocked to the ground and various papers and folders are scattered onto the floor; someone is running.

And then, green collides with gold.


	4. 003 ; the tough gets going

**s** **ilver lining  
** **{** **arc** **I ;** **the remembrance of tomorrow** **}  
** _ **003**   **;** **the tough gets going** _

* * *

 Nothing could exactly prepare her for the strange sight of a man in a mask, but she isn't naive; she's _seen_ masks like these and she has a vague understanding of it means, what the men and women who wear these masks _entail._ It fills her with dread. The girl is a rabid animal as she pants, her stance crouched low and her heart bolting through her ribcage like the heavy burden it is. Unlike the last time she ran, which was full of panic and _fear,_ right at this moment she has _purpose,_ however slight. She knows for a fact that the man in the fox mask is an obstacle. And it's at this moment that she becomes resolute.

Her eyes flash dangerously, and Utakata doesn't miss the wild glint in her eyes; he's _lived_ those eyes. They scream _raging madness._ There is no doubt that it would take _less_ than a second for him to hold her down, and with rapid ease… but something about her makes him unable to move forward. Her body position, the _look_ in her eyes, the absolute desperation oozing off her… it almost makes him want to choke. He sees something of his young self in her.

It's frightening.  
  
“Alright… look...” The sound coming out of his throat is much more collected and focused than he actually feels. His hand reaches out, trying to placate her, but it makes her stagger backward instead like an abused dog; the ferocity of her steps make him pause, and he can barely stand to shudder a breath, the sound being much too loud beneath his mask. The girl is bloody terrified and on edge; though it had been made apparent that she held no real skill as a nin, those two traits are still a very deadly, and _messy,_ combination. But despite the obvious tension in her stance and in her facial expression, it's her _eyes_ that have him transfixed and rooted to the spot. For all the world, this girl is as good as dead, completely beaten and weak; but the lively ferocity in her eyes contradict every inch of that notion, and it's fascinating to see, to _watch._ Because he was her once upon a time. He wants to know her reasons.

He hadn't missed the exchange with the bandits.

Thank goodness for obliviousness, however: “Is that… her? The child?” Harusame's unexpected and astonished interjection seem to snap him out of the tension, and the world seems to move again. The hospital staff are more startled than they are frightful; more likely due to _him_ rather than a measly little girl, but despite that, nobody moves. It had only been a _fraction of a second_ in which he had moved his sight away from her, bare moments after his sensei's voice had rung through the air; so when he snaps his eyes to where she'd been standing, all he sees are trails of blonde around the corner and astonished gasps. “Utakata, _wait—_ ” He doesn't stick around to hear what advice Harusame wants to give, because by that point he's already rounding the other corner.

“ _Tch_ — When did I get demoted to _babysitter?_ ” He ignores the obvious answer to his own question.

* * *

Hotaru doesn't know what's come over her; it's not _fear,_ not exactly. And though she is on the verge of a panic attack, it's overshadowed by a little more than determination. This time, she has purpose. Her vision is tunnel focused, and every person she runs into is either shoved or evaded without grace, but purposeful all the same. She tries to closet the thought that forms in the back of her mind: _Where exactly am I_ _going_ _?_ That bridge will be faced when she crosses it.

“ _Hey—!!”_ cries out one of the many from the hospital staff. Papers are scattered to the floor, people are slipping and steps are shuffled. She doesn't miss a beat in knocking equipment all over the floor behind her, making an absolute mess. Someone tries to make a grab for her, yanking her by the hair fiercely. But she is in no mood to be maltreated _again._ She _refuses_ to have it.

“ _Don't TOUCH me!”_

Screeching like a banshee, she is turned towards the direction of her attacker; it's the nurse from before. “ _Ooh!_ You are in **so** much _trouble_ when you're captured, child! Now, you're going to _stay put_ and _wait_ till—” The old hag had been babbling too much nonsense, and her sharp voice scraped Hotaru's eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. With all the strength she could possibly muster, and with renewed _reason,_ she kicks the wailing toad in the abdomen. The woman curses in pain, and Hotaru pulls herself away from her monster grip, uncaring for the strands of hair that are pulled from her roots. _“ **nngh——** Get back here!!”_

She'd regret that tomorrow, when she'd grow a conscience… should she even make till then.

The girl continues to run, and she is tempted to let herself go into a blind panic. Shaking her head to be rid of such thoughts, and ignoring the pounding of her skull _and_ her chest, she desperately tries to find a window or… or _something._ At this point, she's willing to jump out of her skin. _—Running blindly while not knowing where you're heading is better than succumbing to a pathetic sobbing mess with no motivation to move at all._ And then, it's as if though her prayers are answered, and an open window to her right just up ahead seems to beckon to her. _Freedom…_

—— _my chance!_

Uncaring for the wrench of the weight of her body as she turns, she all but hurls herself to the opening, grasping at the edges of the thick glass as her heart gets caught in her throat. She hadn't realized how…. kind of high the floor was.

Not kind of…. _a lot_ high.

Fierce spritzes of rain and wind hit her face with cold, silent _slaps._ The chills work their way to her brow and cheeks; thanks to her pumping blood and high adrenaline, the cold feels even more numbing than it should have. The transition in temperature is painful, and it makes her reel back in a slight cough, not counting on the small bits of hail to hit. Her eyes are nothing but a squint, but it _really_ doesn't matter.

It hurts to swallow, the only sounds coming from the shuffle of her hair being pushed behind her ear, and the raging windy rain and hail hitting the window pane and inside the hall. Hotaru's neck and below are absolutely drenched, but she doesn't want to question why it feels like _nothing_. Hotaru didn't realize just how much of the water and ice made it's way into her mouth until she's left chortling and _gushing_ her own spit from having it open. She can feel the bits of ice hitting the walls of her throat. Thinking right now is _bad;_ the more she _thinks_ and tries to make _sense_ of her current predicament, the more she'll realize just how _insane_ she's truly become. Because it's now or _never._ Her legs are absolute stone, yet _quaking undeniably_ like twigs. She scowls in disgust at her inability to _hold herself together;_ her thundering internal cries of _don't look_ _down_ bring her more worry than it does relief, but regardless she pushes forward, just like she's been trying to make herself ever since——

—— _don't_ _ **think.**_ _Bad bad bad_ _ **bad. Just. Don't.**_ _ **Think!**_

_Just. **Move.**_

Crouched on the frame as she monstrously grips the thick double glass, her heart _thunders_ louder by the second in her ears. The girl can hear nothing else but her raging heartbeat, willing to _live,_ to make her step back and not jump into _who even knows where._ But then it's like the world stops moving, even for just a fraction of a second… Her leg cramps and forces her to bend onto her side unnaturally from the white pain. But then, time stops.

Her foot slips.

—— _Ba-dum_

Several hues of reds and blues flash in her vision.

—— _Ba-dum_

The sound of rain echoes in her skull. _Her stomach is sucked so much that she_ _nearly_ _chokes from the inhale_ _—!!_

—— _Ba… **DUM.**_

She can already feel her insides flipping… and she can't help to think that _maybe,_ for just a fraction of a _second,_ that _…_ _maybe_ this is for the _best_ … Hotaru almost embraces the oncoming fall… except she doesn't, not really. Because her body doesn't even topple over the edge before she is yanked back, and she meets a pair of eyes through a slit fox shaped mask as their faces meet, merely inches apart, for a few seconds. _Golden ones._ And they have alarm and _fire_ burning directly at her.

The impact of her back hitting the vinyl floor makes her sputter violently. Harsh coughs are practically choked as the air _swooshes_ from her lungs, and she instinctively arches her back from the raw pain of such a trauma.

“Are you _insane?!”_ She doesn't know what annoys her more; the fact that _he's_ the one that sounds indignant after just _yanking_ her into a painful landing, the fact that he seems to have _no consideration_ for her pain, _or_ the fact that his tone is oozing with something akin to… _fatherly._ Like he actually gives two shits. She'd scoff if she wasn't struggling to _breathe._ Her shaky hands grip nothing but the surface of the floor beneath her, and her eyes nearly gauge out of their sockets in searing white _damnation._

 _'——Dear lord.. **save me.** I'm sorry!' _Yet, she knows her prayers are hardly answered.

* * *

 He repeats the line again, reverberating with anxiousness rather than rage as she might have perceived. He'd shut the window, if it weren't for the creeping paranoia of taking his sight off of her, despite the unlikely circumstances. Utakata finally exhales a large, shaky sigh, and _almost_ rips the mask off his face, because he's just _that_ close to not giving any more damns. His hand wraps around a fistful of his own hair, and he resits the urge to yank it right out of the roots. But her heaving and coughing bring him out of his stupor, and he has to bring over his mask of _duty and morality._ It makes him sick and shift uncomfortably, however slight the movement. Without any more words, he brings out a water whip, the coolness of the chakra almost soothing as it runs through his fingers and extend beyond arm's length. He makes sure to wrap it carefully around her and as tightly as he could; she won't be happy, and she's already squirming desperately.

He _refuses_ to acknowledge the stinging in his eyes.

He crouches, albeit slowly, and she has that insane _maddening_ look to her eyes. “ _No..nonono don't -fuc —_ _k_ _ing_ _ **touch**_ _me!!”_ She rambles, voice echoing through the hall. His chest tightens, forming a big knot all the way to his throat.

“Calm _down._ ” His voice betrays the rattling of his head as he holds his hands up in surrender; a gesture that does nothing in her eyes as she glares daggers. “I'm not going to hurt you. Just cooperate with me here, it'll make this easier for you.” _And for me._ “Please Hotaru.”

Her lips curl fiercely, baring her teeth. “ _How_ do you know my _name?!”_ Ah… so she _doesn't_ remember? _How_ could she not remember? Better to not reveal that just yet. He responds by giving her a blank look… though, the mask does that for him. After agonizing moments of silence, she moves around again trying to crawl, to do _anything_ to get away. She doesn't get far when his grip tightens on the rope. “Let me _go!_ What do you people _want?!”_ Colorful words spill from her mouth that even _he_ hadn't heard much of in this village, despite it's _murderous reputation,_ make his eyes widen slightly, bemused.

—— _How old is this kid again?_

“ _Let me go let me go let me **GO!** ”_ Her blabbering is getting old, but he offers nothing more than a tilt of his head. Better to let a few moments pass.

“… Are you done throwing a tantrum?” The sudden snarl jutted his way would be a resounding _no_ if he has to guess. “You've caused quite the ruckus here. You even knocked over some patients.”  
  
“Like I _care!_ ” She doesn't like his tone; rather, the _lack of._ As if he literally wishes to be sitting around than…. than _entertaining_ this whole situation. _As if he doesn't have her practically freaking **hostage** and won't. Let. Her. **GO!**_ If he's _that ridiculously_ _bored_ why doesn't he just _turn the other way and play a small game of 'Oh, the blonde girl? Nope, haven't the slightest clue——_  
  
“Wouldn't dream of it.” He deadpans. “In any case, you're pretty much all healed, evidenced by your ability to move; but thanks to your recklessness, you're probably going to catch a cold now.” As expected, he gets no response; she instead turns away from him. It's a gesture not at all unfamiliar to him, but annoying all the same. “What exactly was your plan here? What are you trying to do?”

And then he sees it: hesitance. The girl stills, as if realizing something and her lips part ever so slightly. This of course doesn't fail to capture his attention, and before he knows _why_ or even _how,_ he's already leaning forward so he can hear better. “I… I'm—”

“Utakata,” But the rest of her sentence gets cut off, and her lips clamp shut. Utakata sighs internally, before regarding his master with a sideways glance.

“Was there any _necessity_ to let her roam about like a lunatic?” Grunting, Harusame adjusts his spectacles before gazing down at the girl with unimpressed eyes. The girl purposefully averts his stare. “She's caused a bit of an uproar. The staff isn't too happy about it.” His hands fold neatly behind his back, his gaze back to his pupil, as if she's nothing more than a pesky fly.

“Whatever. I'll take care of it.”

“Be that as it may… what are you going to do with her?”

“—— _Don't talk to me like I'm not here!”_ Hotaru had enough of their squabble, ignoring her and treating like nothing more than chopped pork. “Let me _go already!!”_

“She's quite… rambunctious.” The old man notes dully, nothing about his face showing the least bit acknowledgment but a raised brow.

“… _Something_ like that.” Utakata tugs on the rope, enough to let her know she should just be quiet. “She won't simmer down. I can't take her to Mei like this, that woman is a ticking time bomb.”  
  
“Regardless of the circumstances, you have a duty to uphold.” Only his student would have the audacity to say such a thing in uniform.  
  
“….Yeah.” His blank tone doesn't go unnoticed.

“Well… I better get to it then...” Utakata sighs, muttering about this being _troublesome_ before tugging on the rope. “I doubt your _highness_ would let me carry her?” He tilts his head toward her, even though he fully well knows the answer already.  
  
“You better not _think_ about it, you creep!!” _—aaaaaand **there** it is. _Her screeching is going to give him a migraine if she keeps it up. He shakes his head before, quite literally, _dragging_ her across the floor.

Left with scratching his chin in amusement, the old man watches his student's back with the girl ranting obscenities following shortly after, Harusame lets his lips quirk. For the first time in a while, he noticed the boy react with something else other than a mask of indifference, despite if he himself thought otherwise. _—Maybe that's exactly what he needs_. A good dose of his own medicine would maybe do his pupil some good. _He isn't getting any younger and at the rate he's going, I'll be the one to outlive the boy! _He walks away, as the shouts of “— _I am not an animal!!”_ and _“You might as well be with all this screaming, so **settle** down!” _ echo throughout the hospital halls; he pays no mind to those glaring pointedly at him.


End file.
